


Bantamweight

by linguamortua



Series: Twink Brock Rumlow [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Dubious Morality, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Skinny Steve Rogers, Threesome - M/M/M, Twink Brock Rumlow, hot power top jack rollins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's been away for a week, and Brock's reduced to trawling the bars to find someone to play with. The skinny blond he picks up seems to fit the bill perfectly. Things are going swimmingly - and then Jack gets home early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bantamweight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Trebeka](http://trebeka.tumblr.com) for plot bunnying me and [Mathildia](http://mathildia.tumblr.com) for a beta read.

Brock didn’t usually go for the skinny types, but the blond guy at the bar had a fire in his eyes and an arrogant tilt to his chin that made Brock’s blood flash hot. He wasn’t there with anyone, same as Brock. Looked bored. The bar was sweaty and crowded, the lights down and the music pumping loud enough that Brock could feel it, heartbeat-steady and pulsing. He wanted the blond badly. He’d been watching him for a little while. He wasn’t exactly an attractive man, skinny and stern-faced with a beaky nose and birdlike clavicles visible through his shirt, but he had that extra something, a core of steel that Brock had a sixth sense for. No way the guy was much older than Brock himself. Brock could work with that. Picking up guys his age was easy, and right now he had a copy of Jack’s house key in his pocket, Jack’s truck keys swinging off his finger and a guaranteed empty house until tomorrow afternoon. He checked his hair in the back of his beer bottle, drained the last mouthful - it was kinda warm - and sauntered over.

‘Hey,’ he breathed, slipping in next to the guy and giving him a winning smile. The blond flicked his eyes up and down Brock’s body like he was eyeing up something in a shop window. Impersonal. Casual, like he was swimming in offers and could afford to be choosy. He didn’t bother to respond at first, sipping on a glass of what looked like neat whiskey. Brock leaned on the bar and slid in a little closer. ‘I’m Brock,’ he said, trying to make himself smaller, looking through his eyelashes. He was a good six inches taller than this guy, and a fair bit heavier, but he knew how to act cute.

‘Stevie,’ said the blond. He pushed his bangs off his face with a hand that had telltale bruises on the knuckles. This close up, Brock could see the ghost of a split lip healing up, too. 

‘What’re you drinking, Stevie?’

‘Bourbon,’ Stevie replied lightly.

‘Can I get you another?’

‘Can you?’ Stevie shrugged. He finished his drink, rolling it around his mouth and then licking his upper lip with a lush, slow motion, like that was the only drink he’d had all night and he was determined to enjoy the lingering taste.

‘Whatever you like,’ said Brock, too quickly, rushed because he’d been derailed by Stevie’s pointed pink tongue and long, pale lashes. Stevie smiled, all catlike. He had a knowing air about him.

‘I like a lot of things,’ he said. ‘But I think I’m done drinking for tonight. At least at the bar.’ He gave Brock a long look, insinuating. Brock got that hot, rich shiver of anticipation, like he always did when someone was interested in him. The quick flutter in his throat, knowing he was wanted. Stevie’s scrutiny was blatant and unmistakable. Brock held up his hand, truck keys looped over his index finger.

‘I got a truck outside and an empty house a couple of miles away,’ he said. Stevie stepped in closer, so that Brock could smell the bourbon on his breath. Jack drank something similar; Brock’s own breath caught in his throat. Stevie’s lips were an inch away from his but he wasn’t moving, wasn’t kissing Brock which was a _travesty_ , and so Brock went for it, closed the gap with teenage awkwardness only to have Stevie pull away. Brock made a hot, desperate little noise in his throat, barely audible over the noise of the bar, but Stevie heard it.

‘You’re a greedy boy, Brock,’ said Stevie with a grin. He took the truck keys out of Brock’s hand, his fingers trailing over Brock’s skin. ‘I’m driving.’

Brock followed Stevie out to the parking lot. The crowd in the bar seemed to dissipate around the man, making space for his slight form. He walked smoothly and carelessly and people just moved for him. Brock had to shove his way through. Stevie headed straight for Jack’s truck and unlocked it, hauling himself up into the cab as if he were the correct size and the truck inappropriately, grotesquely large. Stevie had big hands for his size and they were sure on the wheel. One index finger rubbed at the textured leather, all tactile and caressing and Brock stared, stared and tried to keep his breathing steady. Usually he’d be smoother, but Jack had been gone for so _long_ , a week already and Brock all used to getting held down and fucked every night. 

They weren’t exclusive. They’d never said. If they never said, it was okay. That was Brock’s argument, anyway.

‘Direct me,’ ordered Stevie, snapping his fingers and pointing to the road. Brock navigated on auto-pilot, left, right, next left, straight ahead, third house, the grey one with the black roof. When Stevie killed the truck engine, the night was suddenly dead quiet. There was never any noise in this neighbourhood, anyway. Neither of them made a move to get out, yet, but Stevie stretched out a skinny arm and ran it up Brock’s thigh. ‘Second thoughts?’ he teased.

‘Fuck you,’ retorted Brock with a snort. Stevie’s answering laugh was lightly mocking, his wide mouth open and his head thrown back so his Adam’s apple stood out.

‘Mm,’ he said. ‘I think that’s unlikely, don’t you?’ He got out the car and let Brock follow him to the door with the key.

Once, with his heavy boot on Brock’s back and his voice low and mean, Jack had told Brock that he was a subby little bitch and that everyone who saw him knew it. Brock had protested, but Stevie saw it too, and Brock was simultaneously pissy about that fact and desperate to see what Stevie could give him. He wasn’t like Jack at all with those scrawny arms and his sardonic smile and his clever mouth, but the air of command was the same. The easy confidence. And, when they were inside, the way Stevie whipped out a hand and shoved Brock back against the wall to kiss him, tongue tasting like bourbon and one hand rubbing at the front of Brock’s jeans. He was as demanding as Jack but so dextrous, flicking his tongue over Brock’s and teasing, making Brock work for it.

‘More,’ gasped Brock when Stevie let up, both of them panting.

‘Do you have a bedroom,’ Stevie asked, ‘or do I have to fuck you on the floor?’

‘Upstairs,’ said Brock, and they jostled up the stairs, shoving, laughing a little, Stevie groping him, pinching his hip through his shirt. Stevie hustled Brock backwards through the bedroom door and all the way to the bed, pressing him down onto the mattress without either of them kicking off their shoes. Brock was gone on this guy already with his ready laugh and his quick fingers and the undeniable way that he took charge. They rolled around on the bed for a while, hands everywhere. Stevie’s mouth was hot on Brock’s throat, teeth nipping, and Brock threw back his head to let him do it. His head was swimming from the booze and the adrenaline. Stevie wound his fingers into Brock’s hair and made Brock look at him.

‘Why am I doing all the work?’ he said, his strangely deep voice husky. He rolled off Brock and arched his hips up to undo his belt and his jeans and slide his pants off. ‘Why don’t you get down here and suck me off?’

‘God, yes,’ mumbled Brock, sliding down the bed and tugging open Stevie’s boxers. Stevie pulled his shirt off, kicked off his shoes. There was an awkward moment where one of Stevie’s bony knees jammed into Brock’s ribs and then Brock was there, face to face with Stevie’s cock, mouth watering. When he slid his lips over it, Stevie groaned and rested a hand on Brock’s head, holding him there. Stevie wasn’t so big that it was difficult to take him all in; besides, Brock was well practiced these days. He sucked Stevie hard and sloppy, greedy, letting Stevie hold him down.

‘Yeah, that’s good,’ Stevie gasped, ‘Jesus, that’s good.’ He bucked his hips up, testing the waters. Brock let Stevie fuck his face, unable to stop the blissful, eager whimper that rose up in his throat. Stevie tasted like salt and his skinny hands were surprisingly strong on Brock’s head. Brock scrabbled his feet against the end of the bed, trying to get his sneakers off. His cock rubbed up against his jeans every time he moved, fucking agony, torture - he fought a hand down to undo his belt. Stevie slowed. ‘Take it off,’ he said, letting Brock lift his head of Stevie’s cock. He leaned over to the nightstand. ‘Got condoms in here somewhere?’

‘Bottom drawer,’ Brock said, his voice muffled as he yanked his shirt off over his head. He stripped off his jeans and crawled up over Stevie’s body to root through the drawer. He was pretty sure Jack had some rubbers somewhere. Yes, there - the black and gold box at the back. He threw the box at Stevie, winging it off his skinny chest. Stevie made an indignant sound and dragged Brock down onto the mattress by the waist. They wrestled for a minute, and then Stevie shoved two fingers into Brock’s mouth, all the way in.

‘Get them wet,’ he grinned, and Brock closed his eyes and sucked showily, thought about--

‘Ain’t this a cute little party?’ Jack said from the doorway, and Brock jumped so quickly and so hard that he thought he might have achieved lift-off. He gave his mouth a guilty wipe with the back of his hand.

‘It’s not--’ he began, flushing. Above him, Stevie levered himself up on one sharp elbow and appraised Jack.

‘Were you going to tell me about this guy?’ he said, sounding frosty. ‘I’m not in the mood to get beaten up by your boyfriend.’

‘Sorry,’ said Brock, sitting up and tugging the covers over himself. ‘I, uh, he wasn’t going to be back.’ Stevie rolled his eyes and leaned over the side of the bed for his boxers and shirt. He stood and grabbed his jeans, his shoes, and made for the door.

‘It was real fun meeting you,’ he said to Jack, making to leave, but Jack lifted one long leg up against the doorframe and blocked his path.

‘I ain’t mad at you,’ Jack shrugged. ‘Kid needs to get fucked. He gets bitchy, else.’ Stevie raised one eyebrow, hip cocked, like facing off against six foot four and near two hundred pounds of Jack Rollins while half-naked was a normal Saturday night for him.

‘Right,’ said Stevie, warily, clearly waiting for Jack’s mood to turn bad.

‘Carry on,’ Jack said, coming into the room and gesturing to Brock, naked and red-faced on the bed.

‘Hey, man, I’m not here to put on a fucking show for you.’ Stevie folded his arms across his chest, all ready to argue, and then Jack paused and turned to him with one of his unhinged smiles. 

‘Okay,’ Jack said slowly, advancing across the room towards Stevie. ‘Maybe I’m a _little_ mad.’ Brock was pretty sure he was faking it. Sometimes it was hard to tell. ‘But you can make it up to me. Go finish what you two started, and if I like it, maybe I won’t knock your heads together and throw you out my goddamn house.‘

‘I don’t--’ began Brock, sure it was a trap, but Jack cut him off with an impatient hand gesture.

‘What, do I gotta fucking pay you?’ Jack levered himself down into the old armchair in the corner, sitting on a couple of Brock’s t-shirts. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. ‘Go ahead, kids,’ he said. Stevie prickled. 

‘Kids?’ he said in his snarky drawl. ‘I can’t be much younger than you.’

‘Seems to me that only youngsters care about that sort of thing,’ Jack commented, entirely unperturbed and rooting in his pockets for a cigarette. ‘Anyway, you’re only a little thing. What are you, bantamweight? One twenty tops?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ said Stevie, starting to look flustered. His gravitas was compromised by his hard cock still showing through his boxers. Plus, it was hard to argue with Jack in his motorcycle gear, his dark pants and fitted t-shirt and hair tousled from his helmet. Strong, masculine, a little sweaty and with blunt fingers engulfing his lighter as he lit his smoke. Jack was on home territory, and despite his battered knuckles and lip, Stevie wasn’t looking for a fight.

‘Come _on_ ,’ said Brock, reaching up off the bed to fist his hands in Stevie’s shirt and pull him back down again. Jack’s casual control of the situation and the way he was sitting there fully expecting a show was eroding Brock’s ability to think straight. He should say no - this was the kind of thing Jack liked to do, let him feel like he was getting away with something and then punish him later - but Stevie’s body was warm against his, cock hard and breath still sweet with liquor. Brock ground up against him and Stevie got the hint, lacing their fingers together and pushing his thigh up between Brock’s legs.

The lube was on the nightstand and Stevie deftly flipped open the cap and wet his fingers with one hand. He trailed his hand up the inside of Brock’s thigh, making him twitch, and then traced a lingering path to Brock’s hole. With teasing strokes he opened Brock up, doing it just a little too slowly. If he tipped his hips just right, Brock could get Stevie’s fingers to rub up on him in the perfect way. Stevie got wise fast, leaning on Brock’s hip and keeping him still. Brock made a desperate sound, needy and demanding. Sometimes it worked on Jack. It definitely worked on Stevie.

‘Fine,’ Stevie said, amused, taking off his boxers for the second time. He tore open a condom packet with his teeth and rolled the rubber down over his cock. ‘But if it hurts…’

‘He likes that,’ chuckled Jack from the corner of the room. Brock moaned and spread his legs and Stevie leaned in to kiss him. By the time Stevie let up Brock was grabbing at Stevie’s shirt, pulling it up over his head and running his hands up the guy’s ribs and back, wanting him. Stevie was cruel about it, rubbing his cock up against Brock’s ass and laughing when he tried to push up onto it. 

‘I want it,’ whined Brock, hooking a leg around Stevie’s hips. ‘Come on.’ God, he’d waited long enough. The week wandering about the house on his own, and the boring bar, and the car ride, and the interruption; Brock was so hard it hurt, so desperate that his mouth was dry. He reached his hands out for Stevie, who took them in his and pressed him down into the mattress. With a long exhale, Stevie slowly pushed his cock into Brock. It didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it had been a while - a while for Brock, anyway, and his back arched as Stevie fucked into him. Stevie was tightly controlled, his brow furrowed. He bit his lip as he fucked Brock, looking down at his own cock then back up at Brock’s body. He went slow, grinding up on Brock’s prostate with every thrust and making Brock’s dick twitch and leak. 

Brock could probably have twisted his wrists away and sat up. Stevie wasn’t very heavy. His weight felt so good on top of Brock though; he’d missed being on his back like this, just lying there and taking it. He wanted more of it. He told Stevie so.

‘Harder,’ he said, trying to fuck himself on Stevie’s cock. ‘Please, please.’ Stevie gave him a flash of a smile, teeth bright and face sweating. He leaned down and nipped at Brock’s ear and fucked him harder, deeper. Brock lifted his hips to meet each thrust, breath coming short and ragged. In the corner, Jack made an amused grunt of a laugh and Brock opened his eyes to see Jack grinding out his cigarette and standing, the chair creaking. 

Stevie didn’t have time to turn around before Jack’s big hand was around his skinny throat, guiding him upright, up onto his knees. He was still inside Brock, Brock’s legs still around Stevie’s hips. 

‘Nice try,’ Jack said, resting his chin on Stevie’s bony shoulder. ‘But we both know he wants more than you can give him.’

‘He likes it fine,’ said Stevie defiantly, and not wrong. Jack’s breath must’ve been on his neck and ear; his eyelids fluttered shut for a split second and Brock could swear the guy was leaning into Jack’s touch.

‘Bet you like it too, huh?’ Jack asked, voice low and rough from smoking. 

‘I don’t really bottom,’ said Stevie. Jack laughed.

‘Can you suck cock, or are you useless at that, too?’ Stevie bristled.

‘I said I didn’t, not I _couldn’t_ ,’ he said scornfully, rising to the challenge. Jack pulled away and, standing, unbuttoned his heavy pants. His cock was already mostly hard; it bobbed out, thick and blood-dark. Brock licked his lips and Stevie gave a little shrug, grudgingly impressed.

‘Go on,’ Jack said, gesturing. ‘Show me what you got, and I’ll show you how to fuck my little brat.’ He grinned at Brock over Stevie’s shoulder. ‘Might even let you help.’ Stevie pulled out of Brock and turned, down on his hands and knees. His balls hung heavy between his thighs and Brock sat up. He could - Stevie was right there, he could touch him, lick him open, he could… he looked up at Jack pleadingly. 

Jack didn’t see. His head was back, eyes closed. Stevie was going to town on his cock, no hands, rolling his tongue over the head and taking it deep by turns. Brock felt an ugly little flash of jealousy. _He_ wanted that. It was his. Jack was his, Jack’s cock was his. Usually he’d wait for permission, but Brock was antsy and frustrated. He crawled up the bed until he was pressed shoulder and hip to Stevie and leaned in, getting his tongue on Jack’s balls, working around Stevie’s face. Jack barked a laugh and ran his hand over Brock’s head and Brock almost purred. 

Stevie seemed to notice Brock and pulled off, sitting back on his heels to watch Brock take his turn. With Jack’s hand in his hair, the familiar weight and taste of his cock on Brock’s tongue, Brock’s arms almost gave out. It felt like relief, touching Jack after he’d been away so long. He could practically forget Stevie existed. There was nothing but this, the smell of Jack, the feel of him, the solid muscle of his belly and his voice when he told Brock to take it all, told Brock he was a good kid, a good boy, a good little cocksucker. Jack’s dick bumped up against the back of Brock’s throat and he swallowed, whimpered, tried not to choke in front of Stevie. Jack made him do it anyway, tugging on his hair until Brock was drooling down his chin and breathing wet through his nose.

‘Nice,’ Stevie murmured. The mattress was moving gently where Stevie was palming at his cock. Brock looked up in time to see Jack smirk at Stevie, and then Jack had him by the shoulders and was pushing him backwards, flat on his back with his legs resting on Jack’s chest. 

‘Okay, kid,’ Jack said, smiling down at Brock like he was about to give him a delightful birthday present. ‘Ready?’ He didn’t give Brock time to respond before he was nestling his cock against Brock’s hole and pushing in. _Oh_ , Brock thought - or maybe he said it - and everything went briefly fuzzy like he was passing out or drowning. Jack’s hands were on Brock’s thighs, bracing him, and Jack fucked him hard and vicious. His fingers were bruising on Brock’s legs. Maybe it was supposed to be a punishment but Brock’s body curled up with bliss. His feet pressed against Jack’s shoulders, his hands grabbed the blankets. Jack was so big, so big in him, holding him, and Brock couldn’t even brace himself against the covers. He went tense and limp by turns, letting himself get fucked, hearing himself start to make little noises and gasps.

‘Hey, blond kid,’ Jack said, his breath coming fast. ‘Shut him up, would you?’ Stevie swung a knee over Brock’s face and fed his cock into Brock’s waiting mouth. Brock moaned around it. He didn’t even have to move. Stevie was right there fucking his mouth, and Jack wasn’t letting up and Brock was helpless to do anything but take it. His hands drifted up over Stevie’s ass, and then back to the covers; he pressed down against the mattress and tried to fuck himself back onto Jack’s cock. Stevie shifted his knees outwards onto Brock’s biceps to hold him down and that was it, Brock was gone. His cock was brushing his belly every time Jack thrust into him but it wasn’t enough. He whined around Stevie’s cock, trying to beg, _mmm, mm_ , but Jack and Stevie kept on at him, ignoring him. 

Brock tried to tug a hand free and reach down to his cock and Jack slapped it away.

‘Not yet,’ he said, his voice tight like he was trying to hold off coming. Stevie was close. His hips were stuttering out of rhythm and he groaned, cupped the back of Brock’s head and buried his cock deep. Brock choked when Stevie came, not quite ready for it. Fuck, it was good, though - musky and warm.

‘Show me,’ panted Stevie, sagging on his arms. It was the kind of thing Jack liked, too. Brock opened his mouth, stuck his tongue out and Stevie blew out a long, impressed breath and patted him on the cheek. ‘Fuck,’ he said, climbing off Brock. ‘Fuck, wow.’ He went to stand on shaky legs, and Jack hooked him back with one arm.

‘Get him off,’ Jack ordered, and Stevie looked between Jack and Brock hesitantly.

‘You don’t want to…?’

‘Don’t keep a dog and bark myself,’ said Jack. He caught Stevie under the chin. ‘He don’t normally get sucked off. Treat him.’ Stevie barely balked this time, sliding back onto the bed on one hip and taking Brock’s dick in his mouth. Christ, he was good at it. Brock made a strangled sound, almost a sob. Stevie’s mouth was so warm and wet and he let Brock’s cockhead rub on the top of his mouth and over his tongue. Brock watched. Stevie was flushed all down his face and chest and Jack was sweating and they were both, they were both - Brock’s eyes rolled back in his head as Jack got him really good, nailing his prostate and -

‘Ah,’ Brock said, his throat tight and his muscles tensing, ‘oh God, Jack, Jack-’ He came so hard that he almost kicked Jack in the face, bucking up into Stevie’s mouth and gasping for air. The way he clenched down tore a groan out of Jack; Jack sounded like he was coming apart. It made Brock whimper again through his own aftershocks. 

‘Hey, blond kid,’ Jack managed through gritted teeth. Stevie looked up at Jack, moving through a well-fucked fatigue. Jack let go of Brock, rested two fingers under Stevie’s chin and came on his face. ‘Aw, yeah,’ Jack said on a shaky exhale. ‘Suits you.’

Stevie made an indignant sound and wiped his face off with the back of his hand while Jack zipped himself back into his pants. 

‘All right,’ Jack said, suddenly brusque. ‘That’s how you fucking do it, kid. Now get out my house.’

‘Jeez,’ said Stevie, unhurriedly dressing himself. ‘The hospitality around here’s really lacking.’ He pulled out his wallet and rifled through it. ‘Call me if you get bored,’ he said to Brock, flipping a business card onto the bed next to Brock with an easy flick of his wrist. If his retreat was a little hasty, Brock could understand it; Jack was getting that look in his eye that said someone was about to get beat. He stomped out onto the landing, even, hanging over the stairs to watch Stevie leave until the front door closed.

Jack came back in, flopping down onto the bed next to Brock. Brock rolled onto his side to bury his face in Jack’s sweaty ribcage, rubbing up on him like a cat. Jack scratched at Brock’s scalp a bit and then stretched, his shoulders cracking. 

‘Gonna call him?’ Jack asked.

‘Mmm, ‘s a trick question,’ mumbled Brock into Jack’s chest. Jack’s laugh rumbled through Brock’s face.

‘Smart kid,’ said Jack, and then Brock was asleep.


End file.
